Cabbing back from an appointment to my office this morning, I had one of those moments that only happen in (and that keep me in love with) Washington, DC. The street was blocked by some protestors in green shirts, carrying signs that said, "Congress! Listen to Us!" My cabbie took a detour, only to be stopped by a motorcade with two black SUVs, several limos, and a bunch of police. I always ground and send a strong, "Repair the Web" vibe when I get that close to a motorcade in DC; it's bound to be someone powerful. Biden's out of town; Obama gets more SUVs; I'm not sure who this was.
Trying yet another route, the cabbie was apologetic. It was a crazy traffic morning: Gay people were lined up outside the court house to get married, protestors were protesting, crews were filling in pot holes, and now, a government official was moving around the city. I assured him that I wasn't in a hurry, I'm delighted that gay people are getting married on a fine Spring morning and, even when I don't agree with protestors, I love the fact that people care enough about their government to protest. We stopped at a light and -- just like that -- there was what I've come to recognize as "the waiting moment of grace" -- the reason that the Universe brought you this way. Sunlight shining through the tiny, tender, green leaves of a tree in a protected court yard. Something I haven't seen in the months and months and months since Summer ended and Autumn began. Dappled sunlight, one of the great loves of my life.
I love this city, this one, on the banks of the Potomac, with this particular tree standing in the late-morning sunshine. With these protestors and this motorcade and these police cars and this cabbie. I just do. I understand that I'm simple and silly and foolish, but, well, hell, this landbase needs someone to love it. I'll have to do until someone better comes along.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."